Of Course Not
by GreenNebulae
Summary: Prompt: Emotion; Moriarty was scary because he was insane, and he wore his heart on his sleeve, there was nothing to use against him. But Moriarty was human, and eventually that's how he lost. But that's the thing with Mycroft, he's not. And he's just asked her to start a war.


GN: This is for the prompt Emotion

"Of course not." Mycroft crosses his legs at the ankle as he presses his pointer into the table. His eyes watch the bend in his finger and not her. Anthea swallows as she watches her boss, she's sure he notices and she's also sure he doesn't really care. He notices like one would notice the sun is out. There is no effort and there is no reaction, it is an expectation for people to fear him, be in awe of him or be in the position where one has yet to make up their mind. It's been years and she's still in the latter category.

He has, essentially, just asked her to start a war, and the hesitance written all over her has caused an impromptu lesson, it would seem. She's not one to question him, no doubt why she has gotten this far, but this, this is something not even Moriarty would've had the heart to do.

But that's the thing with Mycroft, his emotions are always fake, and he doesn't really have them. Moriarty was scary because he was insane, and he wore his heart on his sleeve, there was nothing to use against him. But Moriarty was human, and eventually that's how he lost. Mycroft is not, and that's why, even as he turns away from her, she keeps her bravado up, because she is sure he can still see her; see _through_ her.

"The normal person," he begins as he lifts his finger and moves his eyes to hers, "whomever you chose to believe is normal this time," he waves his hand around to demonstrate the flexibility of normal, "does not desire war." He leans back. But people are like sheep, and can easily be herded by their leaders." He can read the disbelief in her face and keeps going. He can get rid of her, but at this point replacing her is more tedious than explaining it to her. She has already been here for years.

"All you have to do is convince them their way of life is being attacked." He begins to count the ways off on his fingers. "Attack their religion, their values, their possessions, their privilege, or even their lives." He laces his fingers together. "People are eager to believe in a higher calling for themselves, that they were placed in Earth for a purpose, and not just because their parents had a few minutes of entanglement. That idea of winning a battle for morality enables people to commit atrocities."

"You may think that I am a monster for feeling this way. That Moriarty, the most feared man in our country, was right to be wary of me, and call me the Iceman." She doesn't know if it's scarier that he knows this, that he reads her mind, or that he's thinking about this in the first place. "But Sherlock has killed for John before, and John has killed for Sherlock. John was so convinced that the American's were in such danger that he went to war for them under our flag. He came back wounded and broken and does he regret it? Do you doubt that he would go back if he could?"

"It works the same way, every country, every flag, every time. There is always an enemy, even if you don't see it yet. There is always an 'us', a higher level of person, and a 'them', the people who are barely that, more than animals. It makes them easier to exterminate, like roaches. It's boring. Regimes change, the 'other' changes but there is always an 'other' and people are always sheep eager to please a leader smarter than they are. You just give them a few reasons to believe they aren't sheep and they will be herded in little time."

"Of course there are few who know better each time." Mycroft stands, and places his hands behind his back. "They are easy to denounce." He turns to the window and looks at the British flag sagging because of a lack of wind. "It's simple to turn them into the anti-patriot. They are no better than the enemy when it comes to exposing the country to danger."

Anthea leans forward in her seat to plead to his back. "That can't be true! Not now, with the world being able to see everything and know more than- than what their leaders send down the chain." Her voice is loud and shaking, but Mycroft shrugs.

"And what about the USA? In their 15th year of war for 'freedom'? Even-"

"But that's the US." She cuts off. Mycroft doesn't turn to her.

"And Mexico? Their 10 year drug wat that has killed 200,000 people? The Syrian civil war? The Iraq civil war? The Boko Haram Insurgency? Those aren't Americans. There are wars in more than 100 countries right now." Mycroft waves the information away. Anthea can't think of anything else to say. Mycroft isn't the type to lie, she looks down.

"Anthea," she lifts her head to stare at the back of his, "don't bother with the moral dilemmas of what I'm asking you to do. It will be done regardless of who does it. You really only have one thing to decide here. Are you a sheep or are you the anti-patriot?" She feels her heart hammer against her chest.

"Don't you already know?" Her voice doesn't really shake, and she stands her ground as she stands up to leave.

He smiles in her direction briefly before turning back to the window.

"I do."

She closes the door behind her and he moves his gaze upwards towards the flag. "Baa," He says softly, as a gust of wind causes the flag to whip around the pole. "Baa." He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the window.

"Isn't it strange how things are most beautiful when they are dying?"


End file.
